


Troubled Waters

by leetje



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, attack of the second person, nothing actually gets resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetje/pseuds/leetje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were over, you should be over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troubled Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and [posted](http://leetje.livejournal.com/232908.html) on LJ back in 2005. It's my first NC-17 fic.

There’s a knock on the door and you know it’s him. He shouldn’t be here; you were over, you should be over.

You sigh deeply and walk towards the door, hesitating to open, because at the same time it opens the door to your soul, something you want to avoid at all costs but know it’s inevitable; you notice that your hand is slightly trembling.

The Dutchman looks like a complete mess. His shoulders are slumped, his clothes are rumpled and there are dark circles visible underneath his eyes. You close your eyes for a moment, leaning heavily against the door, in need of its support to help you stand; your legs are no longer your own, nor is your heart for that matter. It is owned by the broken man standing in front of you and you hate it, hate the fact that you are so weak, but you know that you can never truly hate him. Sometimes you wonder if it would be easier if you did and you certainly had tried to, but had failed miserably.

He looks at you and tries to speak, but doesn’t seem able to find the right words. Instead you speak first, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ruud…why are you here?”

“I...” Ruud takes a step forward, nervously shifting his eyes around before they focus on you; his eyes trailing all over your body and you feel your heart clench in your chest at the deeply troubled look that those dark orbs give you. “I had to see you Cris.”

You frown at his words, for he had told you exactly the opposite weeks before. You bite on your lip pensively, trying to find the English words to form the Portuguese sentences that are in your head. “You break up with me Ruud. To be with your wife and not with me. You see me on training that must be…enough”

“I know, but I... miss you.” He takes another step forward, lifting his hand up with the intention of touching your cheek, but you warily take a step back and he flinches, letting his hand drop to his side, visibly hurt.

“Don’t Ruud, please. You cannot... come back…every time.” To emphasize your words, you take yet another step back and protectively wrap your arms around yourself.

He knows that you are right, you can see it by his defeated stance; the way he stares at his feet. He had made his choice and it hadn’t been you. He loved both of you just as much. His wife, whom he’d known and loved since he was a young boy and you, the team mate he’d been captivated by the moment he’d first laid his eyes on you. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with you, but he had. Things had gotten more complicated when he found out that you loved him back just as much.

Often the two of you could be found on the pitch, long after the others had left, working on your partnership; trying to be fluent in passing, crosses and assists. Then you would shower alone together and gaze longingly at each other, until one day you had decided to be bold by kissing him squarely on the lips. He had been startled, and you had pulled away; embarrassed and ready to apologise for your mistake, but instead you had found yourself been drawn flush against his wanton body and it had been the beginning of your stormy affair, the beginning of what eventually would lead you in the downward spiral in which you currently found yourselves, not knowing how to break out of. Now that you had taken a bite out of the forbidden fruit, its taste quickly invading into your system like a toxic drug, it had left you both addicted, unable to stay away from each other, always craving more, the everlasting desire to touch and be touched.

At first it had been wonderful. You would spend as much time together as you could; finding your own language in between a mix of Portuguese/English and the non-verbal sense of hands exploring and worshipping over flushed skin, of mouths locked into epic battles of passion.

Then she had started to get suspicious, demanding to see her husband more often, wanting know where he had been on the nights he’d otherwise spend with her and it had started to eat away at his conscience. You had tried to be understanding of the situation, knowing it must be harder for him than it was for you, but eventually you no longer could. You wanted to keep him for yourself, didn’t want to share him with her, even though she had had him first. You wanted to wake up every morning in his arms; wishing that he was yours and yours alone. You had told him this once in the afterglow of your love making and he had tensed up in your arms, unable to reply and assure you that your wish could become reality. 

At that moment it felt like a thousands knives had pierced through your body, cutting out your soul and leaving you to bleed on the cold floor. And he knew. Yet he couldn’t make it better. His soft caresses became hollow to you, could no longer truly warm you. From the inside you were slowly dying and there was only one cure to stop all of your walls from crumbling, but that medicine would never come to your aid.

You had ended things soon after. Only it didn’t last long. A mere few days later and you’d found yourself back in his arms again. His pleas had torn at your heart and you’d believed his empty promises of better days to come, with just you and him and without her.

Those days had never come; still you refused to give him up. You needed him in your life. But eventually you knew that you could no longer fool yourself; he would never be solely yours. She would always stand between the two of you and this was something you could not live with. And so you had given him an ultimatum; it was either her or you. His choice had turned your world upside down, shattering your dreams into a million pieces.

Not long after, on an afternoon while you’d been grocery shopping, you’d seen the two of them together. Observing the Dutchman as he happily kissed his wife had sent you in an even bigger downward spiral. You’d gone home to seek your refuge in alcohol, unable to cope with the immense heartache caused by the scene you’d witnessed. After you’d drowned three quarters of a bottle of Scotch, you’d angrily smashed the glass with the remaining contents against the wall, morosely watching the shards fly across your living room. Drinking hadn’t made you forget; the pain was still there.

It hadn’t been you that he’d chosen. Yet here he was, wanting more from you even though you’d already given him everything; every fibre of your being, every ounce of love from your heart, but it had not been enough for him.

An eternity passes between the two of you, neither uttering a single word. He gazes at you with something close to desperation, and you swallow visibly as you dig your non-existent fingernails in the palm of your hands, having to force yourself not to give in to the pleading looks of the other man.

Apparently he has notice your reluctant composure as he looks at his feet once more, sighing audibly before he speaks. “I’m sorry Cris, it was wrong of me to come.”

You watch him turn to leave and then something inside of you breaks. Your resolve to be strong has disappeared without a trace as you realise that you don’t want to loose him. You need him. And so you find yourself taking a hesitant step forward; your voice sounds raspy as you attempt to stop him from walking away.

“Ruud…”

He halts in his movements and turns around, his questioning eyes bore into yours in search of an answer, a deep frown displayed over his features. 

“Do not leave… please...” You reach out with your hand, feeling incredibly timid and small, afraid that he might reject you after you had rejected him first. At the same time you are angry with yourself for being so weak. You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t give in, no matter how much you craved for his touch. Not ever again. 

It only takes a fraction of a second for Ruud to undertake action. He moves forward and then his arms pull you close against his own body. You fall all but willingly into his embrace. He murmurs your name into your hair and you whimper against his neck, clinging desperately to his slightly taller frame as the last of your resolve crumbles.

The moment that he draws your head up to capture your lips in between his own for a fierce kiss, is the moment that all rational thoughts fly out of your head. Vaguely you register that he walks the both of you into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him, before you find yourself pinned between his strong body and the wall opposite of the door, making you gasp into his mouth.

You should stop this, you know you should. However your body betrays you as it reacts to his exploring hands that travel over your back down to your hips, where they sneak underneath your shirt. A shiver runs through you as his cold hands make contact with your flushed skin, before they grab the hem of your shirt to tug it upwards. You willingly let yourself be discarded of the clothing item and he carelessly throws it onto the floor.

He kisses you once more, running his tongue over your lips before it slides inside of your welcoming mouth. You peel at his clothes, shedding him out of his coat with ease before you swiftly undo the buttons of his shirt; almost ripping them off in your impatience to feel the sensation of his skin against your own. 

There’s an underlying anxiety in each of your touches; almost as if the both of you are afraid that this would be over soon, that one of you might put an end to this. 

A hand covers the visible bulge in your jeans and you buck forward as you seek for more dazzling friction. Throwing one of your legs around his, it makes you groan out in simultaneous pleasure as he is pressed more firmly against your thigh.

Suddenly you realise that you’re still in the hallway and you push Ruud away, which takes every ounce of will power that resides inside of you. The striker looks at you confused, about to open his mouth but you silence him by placing a finger on his lips, before he can utter a single word.

Smiling, you grab his hand. “I think, maybe we need a bed” The relief is evident on his face and secretly you are pleased of his reaction. You tug on his hand, leading him into your bedroom, where you let go and turn around towards him. Wordlessly you take a few steps backward, unclasping the belt of your jeans before slipping them over your hips along with your boxers. Unashamed, you stand naked before him as he drinks in the sight of you, seemingly frozen to the spot.

Taking his hand into yours once more, you walk the two of you over to your spacious bed. You sit down and spread your legs wide enough for Ruud to stand in between of them, pulling him closer to your body. 

For a moment nothing occurs; he gazes down at you in amazement and you gaze back challengingly as your hands are resting on his hips. Then you bend forward, placing open mouthed kisses around his belly button, before trailing the dark line of hair downward over his lower stomach until you reach the waistline of his jeans.

His hands find their way into your hair as you continue to nip and suck over his skin and he bucks forward slightly when you free his erection from inside his jeans. “Cris…” he pleads and you nod, nuzzling into his crotch, breathing in the musky scent before you run your tongue over his shaft ending at the tip. Slowly, you take in as much of him as you can, humming around his swollen flesh; bobbling your head up and down and the Dutchman hisses in approval.

As much as you love to taste him and bring him closer to release, it is not what you want, what you have craved for weeks. And so you pull back, ignoring his muffled sound of protest as you lay down in the middle of the bed, looking up at him invitingly and you extend your hand at him.

He steps out of his pants and boxers that were pooling at his feet and swiftly takes off his socks and shoes, before he grasps your hand into his own and lays down beside you. You run your hand over his inner thigh, gazing deeply into his dark orbs. “I want you inside me, feel you”. He nods, wordlessly reaching for your bedside drawer like he has done millions of times before and pulls out an all too familiar tube.

You can feel your heartbeat start to increase as you wait with impatient excitement for what’s to come, observing how the Dutchman coats his fingers with the transparent substance. He prepares you with the greatest of care, probing against your insides and you gasp, trembling in desire. “Ruud... enough, please.” He complies by extracting his fingers and reaches for the lubricant once more, this time to prepare himself. You spread your legs wide, as he moves in between them, guiding his slicked up penis to your opening and presses forward.

A moan escapes your lips as he enters you slowly. Only now do you realise how much you’ve missed this. Missed the sensation of him pulsing inside of you, being connected in such an intimate way, as you try to reach the greater heights of orgasm together. 

He builds up a steady rhythm, his firm thrusts occasionally brushing over that sensitive spot inside of you and you are lost in a haze of pleasure, digging your fingers into his firm buttocks, rocking back against him, harder... faster... more, his name playing like a symphony from your lips.

His hand closes around your achingly hard cock, stroking your heated flesh at a fast pace as he continues to pound into you and it’s too much. You clench around him can feel him release his seed deeply inside of you, as he groans out your name, sending you into absolute bliss and you swear that you could see stars shimmer brightly before your eyes. 

He collapses on top of you, breathing heavily into your neck and you hold him as he quivers in aftershocks of his peak, kissing his sweaty temple lovingly. After a while he seems to have composed himself and draws out of you slowly, before reversing your positions so that you find yourself in the safe comfort that his arms provide.

You cannot lose this, yet you know that nothing has changed. He will still go home to his wife and he will still not be able to give her up for you. But maybe, just maybe you can learn to live with that, because you know that without him, your life would become unbearable.

“Don’t leave me.” It is as if he had read your mind, needing to convince you to stay with him. “Please Cristiano, I need you”, he lifts your chin with his fingers, making you meet his eyes once more. His eyes hold a fear of rejection and you sigh heavily, not knowing how to respond, what to think and what to feel.

Instead you lean forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Tomorrow”, you say resting your head on his shoulder as you close your eyes, letting sleep claim you.

“Tomorrow”, he echoes being content with the knowledge that tomorrow you’d talk. You feel him tighten his arms around body as he intertwines your legs together, following you into oblivion.

Tomorrow.


End file.
